Peach. And Macbeatb may hang his father and mother-in-law, in hope to get into their daughter's for

tune.

Polly. I did not marry him (as 'tis the fashion) coolly and deliberately for honour or money. But, I love him. Mrs. Peach. Love him! worse and worfe! I thought the girl had been better bred. O husband, husband! her folly makes me mad! my head fwims! I'm diftracted! I can't fupport myfelf-Oh!

[Faints. Peach. See, wench, to what a condition you have reduced your poor mother; a glafs of cordial, this inftant. How the poor woman takes it to heart!

[Polly goes out and returns with it. Ah, huffy, now this is the only comfort your mother has left!

Polly. Give her another glass, fir; my mamma drinks double the quantity whenever she is out of order. This, you fee, fetches her.

Mrs. Peach. The girl fhews fuch a readiness, and fo much concern, that I could almoft find in my heart to forgive her.

AIR IX. O Jenny, O Jenny, where haft thou been?
O Polly, you might have toy'd and kift,
By keeping men off, you keep them on.
But be fo tear'd me,

Polly.

And he fo pleas'd me,

What I did, you must have done.

Mrs. Peach. Not with a highwayman-You forry Aut!

Peach. A word with you, wife. "Tis no new thing for a wench to take man without confent of parents. You know 'tis the frailty of woman, my dear.

Mrs. Peach. Yes, indeed, the fex is frail. But the first time a woman is frail, the fhould be somewhat nice methinks, for then or never is the time to make her fortune. After that, he hath nothing to do but to guard herself from being found out, and the may do what the pleases.

Peach. Make yourself a little eafy: I have a thought fhall foon fet all matters again to rights.

Why fo me

lancholy,

lancholy, Polly? fince what is done cannot be undone, we muft endeavour to make the best of it.

Mrs. Peach. Well, Polly, as far as one woman can forgive another, I forgive thee-Your father is too fond of you, huffy.

Pally. Then all my forrows are at an end.

Mrs. Peach. A mighty likely fpeech in troth, for a wench who is just married.

AIR X. Thomas, I cannot, &c.

Polly. I like a fhip in forms was toft;
Yet afraid to put in to land;
For feiz'd in the port the veffel's loft,
Whofe treasure is contreband.
The waves are laid,

My duty's paid,

O joy beyond expreffion!
Thus, fafe afbore,

I ask no more,

My all's in my poffeffion.

Peach. I hear cuftomers in t'other room, go talk with 'em, Polly; but come to us again, as foon as they are gone. But hark ye, child, if 'tis the gentleman, who was here yesterday about the repeating-watch, fay, you believe we can't get intelligence of it, till to-morrow; for I lent it to Suky Stradle, to make a figure with it to-night at a tavern in Drury-Lane. If t'other gentleman calls for the filver-hilted fword, you know beetlebrow'd Jemmy hath it on, and he doth not come from Tunbridge till Tuesday night; fo that it cannot be had till then.

Peachum, Mrs. Peachum.

Peach. Dear wife be a little pacified. Don't let your

paffion run away with fenfes. Polly, I grant you,

hath done a rafh thing.

your

Mrs. Peach. If he had only an intrigue with the fellow, why the very beft families have excused and

huddled up a frailty of that fort.

band, that makes it a blemiflr.

'Tis marriage, huf

Peach.

Peach. But money, wife, is the true Fuller's earth for reputations, there is not a spot or a ftain but what it can take out. A rich rogue now-a-days is fit company for any gentleman; and the world, my dear, hath not fuch a contempt for roguery as you imagine. I tell you, wife, I can make this match turn to our advan tage.

Mrs. Peach. I am very fenfible, husband, that Captain Macheath is worth money; but I am in doubt whether he hath not two or three wives already; and then if he should die in a feffion or two, Polly's dower would come into difpute.

Peach. That indeed is a point which ought to be confidered.

AIR XI. A foldier and a failor.

A fox may fteal your hens, fir,
A whore your bealth and pence, fir,
Your daughter rob your cheft, fir,
Your wife may feal your reft, fir,
A thief your goods and plate.
But this is all but picking,

With reft, pence, cheft, and chicken;
It ever was decreed, fir,

If lawyer's band is feed, fir,

He fteals your whole eftate.

The lawyers are bitter enemies to thofe in our way. They don't care that any body should get a clandeftine livelihood but themselves.

Mrs. Peachum, Peachum, Polly.

Polly. "Twas only Nimming Ned. He brought in a damask window-curtain, a hoop petticoat, a pair of filver candlesticks, a perriwig, and one filk flocking, from the fire that happen'd last night.

Peach. There is not a fellow that is cleverer in his way, and faves more goods out of the fire than Ned. But now, Polly, to your affairs; for matters must not You are married then, it seems?

be left as they are.

Polly Yes, fir.

Peach.

Peach. And how do you propofe to live, child? Polly. Like other women, fir, upon the induftry of my husband.

Mrs. Peach. What, is the wench turn'd fool? a highway-man's wife, like a foldier's, hath as little of his pay, as of his company.

Peach. And had not you the common views of a gentlewoman in your marriage, Polly?

Polly. I don't know what you mean, fir.

Peach Of a jointure, and of being a widow.

Polly. But I love him, fir: How then could I have thoughts of parting with him?

Peach. Parting with him! Why that is the whole fcheme and intention of all marriage articles. The comfortable eftate of widowhood, is the only hope that keeps up a wife's fpirits. Where is the woman who would fcruple to be a wife, if fhe had it in her power to be a widow whenever the pleas'd? If you have any views of this fort, Polly, I fhall think the match not fo very unreasonable.

Polly. How I dread to hear your advice! Yet I must beg you to explain yourself.

Peach. Secure what he hath got, have him peach'd the next feffion, and then at once you are made a rich widow.

Polly. What, murder the man I love! The blood runs cold at my heart with the very thought of it.

Peach. Fy, Polly! what hath murder to do in the affair? fince the thing fooner or later muft happen. I dare fay, the captain himself would like that we fhould get the reward for his death fooner than a stranger. Why, Polly, the captain knows, that as 'tis his employment to rob, fo 'tis ours to take robbers; every man in his bufinefs. So that there is no malice in the cafe.

Mrs. Peach. Ay, hufband, now you have nick'd the matter. To have him peach'd is the only thing could ever make me forgive her.

AIR XII. Now ponder well, ye parents dear. Polly. Ob ponder well, be not fevere;

So fave a wretched wife!

For

For on the rope that hangs my dear,
Depends poor Polly's Life.

Mrs. Peach. But your duty to your parents, huffy, obliges you to hang him. What would many a wife give for fuch an opportunity.

Polly. What is a jointure, what is widowhood to me? I know my heart, I cannot furvive him.

AIR XIII. Le printemps rapelle aux armes.
The Turtle thus with plaintive crying,
Her lover dying,

The Turtle thus with plaintive crying,
Laments her dove.

Down fhe drops quite spent with fighing,
Pair'd in death, as pair'd in love.

Thus, fir, it will happen to your poor Polly.

Mrs. Peach. What is the fool in love in earnest then? I hate thee for being particular: why, wench, thou art a fhame to thy very fex.

Polly. But hear me, mother.

-if you ever lov'd. Mrs. Peach. Thofe curfed play-books the reads have been her ruin. One word more, huffy, and I shall knock your brains out, if you have any.

Peach. Keep out of the way, Polly, for fear of mifchief, and confider of what is proposed to you.

Mrs. Peach. Away, huffy, hang your husband and be dutiful.

SCENE XI.

Mrs. Peachum, Peachum.

[Polly listening. Mrs. Peach. The thing, husband, muft and fhall be done. For the fake of intelligence we must take other measures, and have him peach'd the next feffion without her confent. If the will not know her duty, we know ours.

Peach. But really, my dear, it grieves ones heart to take off a great man. When I confider his perfonal bravery, his fine ftratagem, how much we have already got by him, and how much more we may get, methinks VOL. III. E

I can't